


The Gentleman and the Scoundrel

by dustbear



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-11 22:46:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2086008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustbear/pseuds/dustbear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton, a (former)thief and gambler, wins an estate as part of a gambling debt owed him. </p><p>It is a small and unprofitable piece of land, populated by a motley crew of tenants, a few horses, and of course, a surprisingly mysterious estate manager, Mr. Coulson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It is universally known, that only a person with preternatural luck could walk into a gambling hall, and walk out three days later as landed gentry. Well - landed, at least, as Clint Barton could hardly be called genteel. Frankly, Clint Barton’s luck was nothing to write letters home about either, but he certainly had a predisposition to card counting, an ability to blend into any crowd without question, and impressively little regard for creating enemies amongst the wealthier classes.

It was with that general air of disregard that he strolled into the banker’s office, holding the papers for one of Justin Hammer’s small country estates. He had no intention of keeping the estate, of course. The meeting with the banker quickly made it clear that the estate was nothing but a money pit, with problematic tenants and upkeep costs that far exceeded what the land’s income brought in. The country house was small, but not small enough to incur negligible maintenance costs, as it sat empty and mostly neglected but for a small skeleton crew.

In another life, Clint might have fantasized about being a minor lord, with his own small manor. But the life he preferred was miles away from the well bred gentility of people with money, and the often accompanying arrogance thereof. He tricked them out of their money, and then he moved somewhere else to spend it, and that was that.

He’d sell it at the first opportunity, but he still wanted to see it. Clint asked the rented carriage to drop him off at the town’s outskirts. He was dressed simply, in a light waistcoat and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, with a somewhat threadbare jacket slung over his shoulder and a small pack of his belongings. He had no intention on making a good impression on his new estate’s staff - after all, he’d be gone before they’d ever get to know him. It would be a walk of several miles off the main road, but Clint had the time and a longing for some air.

The quiet countryside afforded him a serenity not often granted during his busy days hustling in the city. He strolled up the muddy road, not paying much attention to the squelching of his old boots. He stopped to speak with an small brown mare standing behind a fence, which said nothing in return, automatically making her one of Clint’s preferred companions of the day.

Three miles into his walk, he heard the steady clop of hooves behind him and sauntered to the side of the road to let the rider pass.

“Good evening.” a calm voice came from overhead. Clint glanced upwards to see a man nod at him from upon a grey mare.

“Good evening.” Clint responded, because politeness was certainly not beyond him. The man smiled and rode on.

Clint watch the man as he left, automatically cataloging his appearance. Middle aged, with an old, but sturdy, coat of good material. A competent rider, although the horse was old. Altogether unremarkable. He walked on.

Fifteen minutes later, he came across the man again, although this time he was crouched down on one knee, examining his horse’s foot. The man looked up as he passed.

“Good evening.” the man said, another nod.

“Good evening.” Clint said, walking on. It would be dark soon, and he’d better make it to the estate before sundown. He only got a few steps in before turning around. Despite everything, Clint Barton would always be a good Samaritan at heart.

“Threw a shoe?” Clint asked, stepping around the horse to look down at the man.

“I’m afraid so. It’s my fault, I was forced to let the stablehand go to a place that paid better, and I don’t have much of a gift with horses.”

“Let me look.” Clint crouched beside the man, not ignoring the way the man stood to stroke the horse’s mane and murmur calm words into her large ears.He had a very pleasant voice. "Her hoof’s torn pretty badly. How far are you from the stable?” Clint asked.

“Just a mile or so. Triskelion House. The small Hammer estate over the hill”

Clint raised an eyebrow, but continued on. He was slightly tempted to reach into his pocket for the estate’s papers and inform the man that it was now technically the Barton estate. Instead, he continued talking. “Good. She’ll need to keep it dry, a chunk of the hoof was torn off. And a cast will likely help. She’ll heal, but you’ll have to be careful.”

“Thank you.” The man said, smiling worriedly. He reached out his hand. “I apologize for not introducing myself sooner. Phil Coulson.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Coulson. Clint Barton. Do you work for the Hammer estate?”

Coulson chuckled, in a incomprehensible fashion. “Yes. I manage the estate in Mr. Hammer’s absence.” There was a tightness to his voice that Clint couldn’t pinpoint.

“And what brings you up this tiny road, Mr. Barton?” Coulson asked, finally looking directly at him, and for the first time, Clint noticed the man’s kind eyes and his wry smile.

Clint thought for a brief moment, before deciding on his course. “Call me Clint, will you? I'm no gentleman. I was headed up to the Hammer estate, actually. I thought I might find some employment there.”

Coulson raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure why you would have thought that. It’s near abandoned.”

Clint smiled sheepishly, putting his well honed performance skills to good use. “To be honest, I was just hoping to trade a roof over my head for a few days honest labor.“

Coulson looked him up and down, with a critical eye. “You said you were good with horses?” His voice cracked a little, and Clint sensed that perhaps the old grey mare was more important than just a convenient transport.

“Quite a bit better than you, from the looks of it.” Clint couldn’t help from snarking back.

“Well, if room and board is all you need, we have plenty of room, and I may even be willing to slay a fresh chicken for you.” Coulson said, a small smile playing at his lips.

Clint laughed. “Oh, my generous prince!” he exclaimed. He looked Coulson up and down. The man was proper, in a way he himself could never be without having had the years of performance training with the circus. Mr. Coulson’s clothing was worn, but clearly well made and the quality was a few steps above what would have been expected for a man of his status. This was not a man he imagined capable of slaying a chicken, and he said so.

Coulson grinned. “Well, then. Challenge accepted, Mr. Barton.” With a gentlemanly bow, he waved Clint ahead, taking the reins of the horse to walking alongside her.

They walked quietly and companionably up the road, with Coulson leading the way. Clint could see the manor house as he rounded the corner. It was modest, but clearly well kept, and he couldn’t help wondering how much of the work Coulson ended up doing himself if the estate really was down to a skeleton crew.

Clint followed Coulson to the back entrance, noting that Coulson hadn’t bothered to lock the door. He figured out why momentarily, as he found an arrow pointed at him from the other end of the room.

“Really, Kate?” Coulson mumbled. “We have guests.”

“You bring important guests that we have to impress through the front door.” Kate answered, lowering the arrow.

“Clint, this is Katherine Bishop. Kate, Mr. Barton will be staying with us for a few days. He’ll be helping us out at the stables.”

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Bishop.” Clint said, because he did know how to be polite to women, even those who were strangely un-ladylike.

Kate laughed and executed a sloppy curtsy. “And you too, Mr. Barton!” she chirped, before disappearing into the other end of the kitchen.

Coulson sighed. “Kate is the adopted daughter of Mrs. Hill’s, our housekeeper and cook. I hate to critique her parenting, but she simply lets the girl run wild. She’ll never find a husband, what with the traipsing through the woods and the dirty dresses. Unless of course, you are interested, Mr. Barton. I doubt a dowry will be required, and a hardworking man will do for Kate”

“Thank you, Mr. Coulson, but she’s not my type.”

“She’s not anyone’s type.” Coulson grumbled.

“I meant female.” Clint answered abruptly, looking Coulson in the eye. He’d come to be perfectly honest about what he liked - dealing with the prejudices were otherwise far too complicated. He was certainly willing to repress his preferences for money, and he was more than willing to flirt with and even bed a lady if he could steal her jewels later that night - but in most other cases, he preferred a relative measure of honesty.

Coulson just shrugged, barely acknowledging the confession.. “Well, then. Oh, there is Mrs. Hill.”

Mrs. Hill was a tall, slender, and stern looking woman. Clint could see even Coulson shrink a little under her withering gaze.

“Have you brought us another mouth to feed, Phil?” Mrs. Hill said.

“We’re not that broke yet, Maria. He’ll be working for his keep, and you know that we could use a hand around the stables since Jasper left.”

“Hmph. Well, dinner is at six, Clint. Be on time.” Mrs Hill said, with a cursory nod in Clint’s direction.

“Do you bring new mouths to feed often?” Clint asked.

“He brought the whole damn orphanage here last week!” Mrs. Hill yelled from across the room.

Coulson sighed. “I just thought they should eat something other than porridge. And we had a lot of salted meat stores from the winter still. Come, Clint, let’s take Daisy to the stables.”

Daisy’s hoof was indeed torn, and with some help from Mrs. Hill’s significant store of herbal poultices and Coulson’s calming voice(for the horse, although Clint certainly did not object to it), Clint was able to clean and bandage the hoof easily enough.

“She’ll be okay?” Coulson said, when Clint finally stood up.

“Have you had her a long time?” Clint asked. The mare was probably twenty years old, at least, certainly near the end of her natural lifespan.

Coulson looked sad. “Yes. Since she was born. Her mother was my father’s favourite horse.”

Clint suspected there was a story there. “You inherited your position from your father?” he pressed.

Coulson’s face developed a pinched look. “Not exactly,” he said, but didn’t seem in the mood to explain further. “I’m headed back to the house. Dinner is in a half hour - don’t be late, or Mrs. Hill will be angry, and she is fearsome.”

Clint watched Coulson walk away with a growing amount of interest. The man held himself with a remarkable proudness and dignity. Clint made a living by being able to read people, but he couldn’t quite read Mr. Coulson, and that both surprised and impressed him. He took stock of the stables, which were well maintained, if sparse. There were only three other horses besides Daisy, and they were well fed and seemed happy enough. Clint gave them all a cursory brushing before he headed back to the house.

The servant’s kitchen was bustling when he arrived, which surprised him as he expected only Mrs. Hill and Kate to be present. But the long servant’s table was filled with a raucous group of people, one of whom was terrifying familiar.

“Clint Barton?” Natasha Romanov shouted, from the other end. “Clint Barton!” she squealed, leaping up to immediately envelop him in a tight embrace, her shock of long red hair coming loose from under her cap.

“You know each other?” Coulson asked, as Clint thanked the stars that he hadn’t given Coulson a false name.

“How do you know him?” Natasha playfully countered. “Why would you ever let a scoundrel like this into your home?”

“A scoundrel, huh?” Coulson quirked an eyebrow, but didn’t seem too angry.

“He’s a no-good-circus-brat.” Natasha said, punching him in the arm. “I’ve known this ruffian forever.”

“Is he good with horses?” Coulson asked, without batting an eye.

“Horses? Sure, he’s great with horses.” Natasha said.

“Then he is already a far more useful scoundrel than you.” Coulson said, with no anger in his voice, before sitting back down to his meal. “Sit down, Clint. Mrs. Hill will be upset if you let the stew get cold.”

Mrs. Hill didn’t seem to actually care either way, but Clint sat down at the table in the empty spot between Coulson and Natasha.

“Since you were going to ask, Miss Romanov and the others are the land’s tenants.” Coulson explained, predicting the question on Clint’s lips. “No, it is not typical for everyone to come over for dinner, but it has become a tradition.”

“What Mr. Coulson is trying to say, is that his tenants aren’t particularly great at paying their rent. And we try to make up for it by bringing food from our gardens for our shared meals, and by helping to keep the estate in good condition,” a short man with a goatee said. He looked very familiar. "He has also long since given up on making us observe the standard social proprieties, thank goodness. I didn't escape all that just to be harangued at the servant's table too."

“Aren’t you Tony Stark?” Clint blurted.

“That’s funny. I didn’t think I’d look familiar without my fortune. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Barton. We’ll have to talk tomorrow about Daisy’s hoof. I have a new invention that may help.”

Clint gawked a little. Tony Stark had been a rich man the last time he’d seen him(from a distance). “Um. Yes. Pleased to meet you too, Mr. Stark.”

“Mr Stark is my father’s name.” Tony said with a grimace.  “Please, call me Tony.”

Over the course of the dinner, Clint got to know a little bit about the other tenants.

There was Thor, and his wife Jane, farmers who had several unfruitful harvests in previous years.

Natasha lived alone, in a small cottage, but she worked as a caretaker for a former soldier, James Barnes, who was sullen and quiet. Steve Rogers, who was tall and strong and probably a farmhand, worked for Barnes as well.

Finally, Tony Stark lived with a companion, Bruce Banner, and he couldn’t figure out half of what they talked about, except that it was likely science. As far as he could tell, none of them made any significant income at all.

Overall, Clint decided, Mr. Coulson was a very good man with a kind heart, and an absolutely terrible estate manager.

\---

His accommodations were in the servant's quarters, just down the hall from Coulson's rooms. His own room was sparsely appointed, but neat and clean. The mattress was soft, and Clint's bones ached, but he couldn't fall asleep in the foreign silence.

He crept out of his room with the small lantern and made his way back outside. The night air was brisk and cold, and he found himself strolling towards the stables. As he approached, he was surprised to see a light in the stables, as well as a reverberating low hum that he couldn’t quite place..

"Who's there?" he cried out, worried.

The light shifted, the hum stopped, and Coulson emerged from the stables, sheepishly holding his own lantern. He was dressed in a loose linen shirt and wool trousers, and barefoot, and Clint felt a sudden tenderness at seeing the man so dishevelled and loose.

"Clint. What in the world are you doing out of bed?"

"I would ask the same of you, Mr. Coulson."

Coulson shifted, embarrassed. "Uh. Daisy. I came to check on her."

"She's fine, Mr. Coulson. her foot is bandaged, and Stark is coming tomorrow with an invention that he says will help."

"Well then." Coulson muttered.

"I can check again-" Clint said, walking purposefully towards the stables.

"No, no. Everything's fine. I'll finish up in here and -" Coulson said, blocking Clint's view of Daisy's stall, albeit ineffectively.

Clint craned his neck around Coulson's sheepish figure. "Is that...a music stand? And a cello?"

Coulson blushed and said nothing. The cello was a beautiful instrument, polished wood and finely crafted. It must have been worth more than a year of Coulson's salary.

"Mr. Coulson, did you come down here in the middle of the night to play music for your horse?"

"I know, it is utterly silly, but she appears to enjoy it, and she's had a rather difficult day and - ." Coulson stopped abruptly, and stared at his feet, his cheeks growing a bright crimson. Clint found it unmistakably charming.

"Mr. Coulson. I was wondering if you would do me the honor of listening to you play."

Coulson's blush grew even brighter, and he stammered some excuses, but he was already getting into position behind his cello, pulling up a simple wooden bench to sit on. The first pull of his bowstring was a sonorous vibration that washed down Clint's spine and made him shiver. The second note was even longer, a deep bass hum that made Daisy's ears perk up alertly, and made Clint think that perhaps Mr. Coulson might be the most fascinating man on earth. He watched Coulson intently, taking in the soft curves of his face, and the strength of his long fingers and the tight lines of his body. He quickly banished his lustful thoughts, as they were rarely welcome, but the deep notes of Coulson's cello grew and grew until Clint felt that his heart might burst.

When Coulson finished, he paused to stroke Daisy's mane before silently packing up the instrument, and before meeting Clint's eyes again. He looked bashful.

"i was wondering if you would allow me to escort you back to the house."

"Escort! Mr. Coulson, i am hardly a lady. and by that I mean, I am clearly not a lady at all."

"I apologize. I was unsure as to how to..." Coulson trailed off, awkward.

"Unsure as to how to make your intentions clear?" Clint asked, his heart leaping in his chest. he wasn't sure if he were reading the signals correctly, but the way Coulson was blushing, and cringing shyly - "Mr. Coulson, am I to understand that your preferences are aligned with my own?"

"I apologize! I was forward and that was hardly polite, but I've never - never -" Coulson squeaked.

"Have you never laid with a man? There are places in the city, where no questions would ever be asked."

Coulson looked appalled. "I meant that I'd never courted a man! Nor laid with one, I suppose. I'd hardly propose an arrangement so immodest..."

Clint couldn't help his laughter. When he finally stopped, Coulson was frowning at him. "Your cruelty is unnecessary, Mr. Barton."

"Oh no, no, no. You mistake me, Mr. Coulson." Here, Clint spun slowly in a circle, allowing Coulson to take stock of him, smirking when he elicited a gulp out of the man. "I am a scoundrel. A ruffian, at best. And now, a stablehand. Men like me do not have to be courted."

"You mean to -"

"If you would do me the honor of allowing me to show you?"

"What would you show me?" Coulson asked, and bless his naive heart, he actually did look confused.

In response, Clint tugged his shirt off, which was only a thin shirt to start. "Whatever you wish to see, Mr. Coulson."

"I-I-cannot!" Coulson stammered, immediately averting his eyes. "Forgive me, but I have to go." Coulson stumbled towards his cello case, grabbing it and wrestling it past Clint, who was still standing in the stable's doorway. He hurried away, in the direction of the house, and Clint had better instincts than to give chase. Perhaps he was too forward. Well, he certainly was too forward. Coulson was...more of a gentleman than he had anticipated. Sighing, Clint walked back to the house alone, carrying the music stand that Coulson had neglected.

He paused in front of Coulson’s door to leave the music stand there, and swore that he could hear a small whimper through the thick brick walls. The thought of Coulson having to relieve himself after their brief encounter made him immediately hard. Palming the front of his pants, Clint smiled. He would undo the uptight Mr. Coulson, he decided. It would be the most delectable unraveling of all.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Clint woke at dawn, and made his way down to the silent kitchen. There was a plate of bread and eggs set out, with a note from Mrs. Hill urging him to eat it, so he suspected that her brusque behavior towards him was mostly a front. He made his way to the stables, still a bit sleepy. Grifters had the luxury of sleeping in in the mornings, but waking up at dawn was necessary if he was planning on playing at being a stablehand. The horses were happy to see him, especially with the carrots he nicked from the kitchen in hand. Daisy was annoyed with her bandaged foot, but otherwise in good shape. He took his time with grooming all of them, before opening their run out to the pasture.

Clint stood there lazily for a bit, watching the horses pasture. His horses, technically, although no one needed to know that yet. It seemed pleasant actually, the idea of settling down to live here. He wouldn't need a larger staff, they seemed to do just fine on their own. He had no desire to be a gentleman about town, nor to get caught up in the conventions of society like afternoon visits and tea and formal dances. It could be the Barton Estate, instead of the Hammer Estate. Perhaps he and Coulson could carve out a life of their own - he stopped himself before his thoughts progressed further in that direction. Coulson hardly liked him at all; he had only caught a glimpse of the man in the morning, hunched over a pile of papers in his small office, frowning angrily at his work. If he had spotted Clint out of the corner of his eye, he made no such attempt to acknowledge it.

It was a surprise then, that at noon, he spotted the suited figure of Mr. Coulson trudging up the path to the stables. Clint instinctively ran a hand through his hair, although he knew that there was no hope of cleaning up before Coulson arrived.

"I came to apologize. I behaved poorly last night." Coulson said, stepping briskly into the stables.

"Oh! No, I should apologize. I was forward, and the indiscretion was certainly on my part."

Coulson paused and swallowed before continuing. "You did not misread my intentions, Mr. Barton. However, I was hoping you would allow me to court you respectably, Clint. At least as much as men in our position might."

Clint gawped. This was certainly not what he anticipated at all.

"You wish to visit with me? To drink tea in the pasture?"

"If it would not disturb your work. I will bring the tea."

"And to walk in the gardens at sunset, after I have stabled the horses?" Clint laughed.

"Our gardens are well tended by Dr. Banner and Miss Romanov. it would be a shame to waste them.

"Mr. Coulson!" Clint exclaimed. "I do not think I have ever met a man like you. And you would trust a known scoundrel?"

"Miss Romanov will vouch for you, will she not? And I have watched you be kind to my horse. I could not ask for more in my current position. What do you say, Clint?" Coulson said.

"I am amenable to being courted. On three conditions. You do not treat me like a lady, as I am indisputably not a lady." Clint insisted.

"I intend to treat you as a gentleman would." Coulson answered, a quiet smile playing in the corner of his lips.

"Okay, I'll take that. Two, please allow me to at least kiss you, as I do not care that much for what gentlemen should do, as we are not gentlemen either." Clint couldn’t help but notice the slow way that Coulson licked his lips.

"Perhaps, but I do care for what gentlemen should do. And the third?" Coulson said.

"No matter what you find out about me, you will allow me to continue to work in the stables.” Clint said, attempting to keep the longing out of his voice. There was simply something unmistakably proper about Mr. Coulson that made Clint want him desperately. It had been quite a while since he had felt like that.

Coulson wrinkled his brow at that and smiled. “I cannot imagine what secrets you may have. However as you said, neither of us are gentlemen, and I have no good name to ruin by having your company.”

Clint grinned. "I must tell you, Mr. Coulson, I find you an exceptionally intriguing man." he said, enjoying the shy smile that it elicited from Coulson.

"Oh, I had nearly forgotten!" Coulson exclaimed, holding out a small linen bag. “Maria made you a lunch. She said she preferred not to have you in the kitchen smelling like dung, but I suspect that she was merely trying to hide her concern for your welfare."

"Perhaps she was merely trying to get you to come see me." Clint teased.

Coulson blushed a deep crimson. "I might have intercepted Kate, whose job it was to deliver it."

Clint looked in the bag. There was a large sandwich filled with smoked ham and a creamy cheese, an apple, and a small jar of milk. Clint's stomach grumbled happily at the sight of the packed lunch. He tore the sandwich in half, and held it out to Coulson.

"i know this isn't quite high society tea, but would you eat lunch with me?" Clint asked, with a wink he knew to be irresistible.

"Gladly, but not in the stables. Come with me." Coulson said, offering Clint his arm. Clint took it.

Coulson led Clint into the woods that bordered the estate, down a narrow path with sunbeams glancing through leaves. They walked silently, and Clint felt acutely aware of the warmth of Coulson’s skin, even under the smooth fabric of his coat.

They ended up by a small pond, surrounded by cat tails and reeds. A dragonfly hummed its way across the pond, landing lightly on a lilypad. Clint could hear a frog croak its throaty song, and when he looked over at Coulson, and noticed the fond look in his eyes, Clint thought that perhaps this might be all he was ever looking for.

Coulson brushed aside some dirt on a large log and sat down on it, gesturing for Clint to join him.

“I've been coming here since I was a child.” Coulson said. “There - “ He pointed to a large rock jutting out from the other side of the pond “ - I used to dive from that rock ledge on humid days.”

Clint laughed, thinking of the very proper Coulson as an adventurous child. “I would very much like to see you do it again.” he said, and was rewarded by one of Coulson’s mysterious smiles.

They ate quickly, both of them hungry and made hungrier by their walk. Mrs. Hill’s cooking was excellent, as were her sandwich assembly skills, and Clint felt grateful that she had used an oversized loaf of bread as they devoured their respective halves.

Clint drank from the small jug of milk, before handing it off to Coulson. He couldn't help staring as Coulson placed his lips on the thin glass rim, where his own were mere seconds ago. Coulson appeared to be entirely unaware of his careless charms, brushing a small remnant of milk off his upper lip with his tongue, which felt like far too indecent an image in Clint’s lustful brain.

They spoke more as they walked across the pastures to the stables, and Clint found himself telling Coulson about his past readily. Perhaps he was trying to shock Coulson, to see if the man would wince at stories of his exploits, but Coulson’s face remained unperturbed, even when he spoke of seducing upper class ladies and the thievery that often accompanied it.

“Perhaps we could have dinner together.” Coulson said, as they approached the stables.

“I had every intention of doing so.” Clint said. “At six, or Mrs. Hill would be angry.”

“My station allows me to have a small dining area in my quarters.” Coulson said. “I understand, if that would seem inappropriate to you - “

Clint smirked. “I have just told you that I was raised in a circus. And that I was a thief. And you worry whether I’d be insulted to eat a meal behind closed doors with another man?”

“I must seem foolish.” Coulson admitted. “I have never attempted to court before.”

“Be gone with you, Mr. Coulson!” Clint demanded imperiously, with a wicked grin. “I have dung to scoop, before I scandalously meet my gentleman caller for dinner in his quarters.”

Coulson responded with a happy laugh. He bowed, in a manner that would have been mocking if any other man were to do it, but the way he performed it seemed entirely sincere. He smiled softly, before turning around to leave.

Clint watched, mesmerized. How could a man so quiet be so fascinating? He was entirely non descript, perhaps even bordering on bland, but there was something about him that Clint couldn't quite put his finger on, and he wanted to put all his fingers on Mr. Coulson. Still, even distracted by thoughts of the dignified estate manager, he managed to remain as focused as he could with two hours’ work at the stable before he gave in to his curiosity and went running down to Natasha’s cottage.

Natasha was in her small front garden, harvesting heads of cabbages when he arrived. She looked happy, and oddly pastoral, miles away from the red headed firebrand of an assassin he used to know. Her hair was tucked under a bonnet, and her sweat stained brow was soft and relaxed in the afternoon light.

“I never thought I’d see you like this.” Clint said, nodding his head at her dirty apron and cabbage filled arms.

Natasha chuckled, sweeping her skirt aside to show him the knives strapped to her thigh. “Or perhaps a young widowed farmer is a surprisingly good cover for my work.” she answered, tossing a cabbage at Clint’s head, which he caught easily. “Have you come to ask me about Coulson?”

“Oh, Natasha, I've missed you.” Clint sighed. She could still read him like an open book.

“I've missed you too, silly. You haven’t come to kill him, have you?” Natasha said.

“What? No! I haven’t been a part of that world for a few years now, Nat. You know that.”

“A shame. I’d gladly recommend you for the jobs I couldn't take. But, you came to talk about Coulson! Come on in then, I have just put the kettle on.” She waved him into the house impatiently.

In a moment, they were settled into Natasha’s comfortable living room with tea and an assortment of pastries that Clint was absolutely certain that Natasha did not bake. He took his time, drinking several sips of the tea, and popping a lemon tart into his mouth. It was delicious.

“Out with it, Barton.” Natasha demanded, as he reached for another pastry

“Coulson propositioned me.” Clint said, because there was never much beating around the bush with Natasha.

“For sex? That seems very unlikely of him, although you are an attractive man.”

“No, he wants to court me. Like a gentleman.” Clint explained. The words seemed silly coming out of his mouth. Ha! To be courted!

“Oh.” Natasha looked surprised for an instance, before mulling it over. “It is not a bad match. You could live at the manor; Coulson wouldn’t have more to offer you but a roof over your head, and his name wouldn't do you any good, since you can’t very well take it. But, he is a good man, and he will do right by you. You could settle down. It’s a bit of a slow life, but we’re all getting a bit old, aren't we?”

“Do right by me? Nat, you’re not taking this seriously, are you? I’m just looking for a bit of fun.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed, and she leaned in close, her whisper an eerie promise. “I don’t believe you one bit, Clint Barton. But if you believe yourself, do not touch Phil Coulson, and do not break his heart, or I will kill you, and you know that I can.”

“Jesus, Natasha.” Clint shuffled backwards, alarmed. “I thought you had my back.”

“I do, when it counts. Phil Coulson is a good man, and I won’t stand to see him suffer.” She peered at him seriously. “Clint - for as long as I’ve known you you’ve been searching for - well, this place could be a home, if you wanted it to be.”

Clint plastered a smirk onto his face, to conceal the growing terror in his belly. “Phil Coulson appears to be a grown man. I suspect he can make his own decisions.”

“I’ll see you at dinner.” Natasha said tersely, standing up with his empty cup of tea,  and with that, the conversation was over.

All Clint could think about as he walked back to the manor was Phil Coulson. Why were his tenants so protective of him? Why had Natasha grown cold at the slightest hint that he he might hurt Mr. Coulson? Why were Coulson’s eyes so blue, like a lake in the morning sunlight? No matter, if Phil Coulson were interested, Clint would let him have anything at all that he wanted, for as long as he wished to have it.

Clint walked back down the mail path to the house, and was ready to take the small path to the servant’s entrance when he saw Coulson standing at the house’s front entrance, glaring at him. His arms were crossed, and he looked angry. Not having a particularly well honed sense of self preservation, Clint approached. Coulson was unmistakably upset, and he wanted to know why.

Coulson spoke before Clint could. “Mr. Barton. It seems that you have neglected to inform me of your proper status.” His voice was cold, and miles away from the wry banter that Clint had gotten used to hearing from Coulson.

Coulson held out a letter. Clint only needed to glance at it quickly to see that it was from Justin Hammer, notifying Coulson of the estate’s abrupt change in ownership. “I can explain.” Clint stammered.

“You owe me no explanations, Mr. Barton.”

“Can you just go back to calling me Clint?”

“I have taken the liberty of having Kate and Mrs. Hill move your belongings to the master suite.”

“Coulson - come on.”

“When would you prefer to eat dinner?”

“At six! With everyone else!”

“Dinner will be served in your study at six, Mr. Barton. I have not yet had time to prepare the dining room as I have only had an hour since the messenger arrived.”

“Mr. Coulson, please. I do not want -”

“Come with me, Mr. Barton. I will show you to your room.” Coulson said, and the tone of his voice could freeze water.

“I know where my room is, I liked my room.” Clint complained, even as his feet followed after Coulson, who was already walking though the manor without looking back. Most of the furniture and paintings were still covered in linen sheets, but Coulson stopped in front of a large door, and threw them open. Inside was a simple, but well appointed suite with a study and a bedroom. He couldn’t help gawking at the study, running his eyes over the rows of bookshelves, and the large standing globe by the large bay windows. It was one of the nicest rooms that Clint had ever seen, much less be able to call his own. And he definitely couldn’t call it his own. He turned around to protest at Coulson, but Coulson had already left, having silently closing the door behind him. Clint jerked the door open, but caught no sight of Coulson.

Clint sighed. Well, he had royally screwed this one up, but at least he was doing it in style. He sat down on the large mattress, and felt his back instantly relax at the comfortable sag. He certainly understood the joys of upperclass living, even if it was something he had never quite aspired towards. He stood, miserable. But - out of all the adversities to overcome, this was certainly not the worse. He would go back to the city tomorrow, and find a buyer for the estate. In the meantime, perhaps he could banish his thoughts of Mr. Coulson, have a good meal, and a good night’s sleep, and visit with Natasha again before he left.

He glanced at the well stocked bookshelves. Perhaps he could take a couple of rare volumes with him. They were unlikely to be missed. Clint had barely gotten to poke around further, when there was a knock on the door. He rushed to it, hoping to find Coulson, but was instead met with the pinched face of Mrs. Hill.

“A simple “come in” will suffice, Mr. Barton.” Hill sniffed.

“Please call me Clint.”

Like Coulson had, Mrs. Hill ignored him, placing the tray of tea down on a deep oak writing desk.

“Kate is coming over with some proper clothing for you.”

“I like what I’m wearing.”

Mrs. Hill grimaced. “You are covered in mud and horseshit. Listen, Mr. Barton. I don’t know what your story is, or what rags to riches character you’re playing at. But the master of this manor must be a gentleman, and I suspect that you've deceived better men than yourself into believing you one. I beg you, try to keep that image up, for as long as you remain with us. Do not embarrass us, Mr. Barton. I do not think that Mr. Coulson name could take another scandal.“

“Wait, wait.” Clint begged. “What do you mean...Coulson’s name?”

“You don’t know?” Mrs. Hill said, surprised.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“You really are an imbecile, aren't you?”

“Aren't I technically your boss now?” Clint asked.

“Yes, but you’re still stupid. I've known Coulson since he was a little boy. My family worked for the Coulsons.”

“For the - Coulsons. Not the Hammers.” The pieces slotted into place quickly. “You mean, this place used to be the Coulson estate?”

“Perhaps you are not entirely a moron, Mr. Barton. It was lost in a gambling debt by his father, so I expect that the method of your acquiring the place will not endear you to Coulson either. But you won't find a better estate manager, or a better man.”

“But why is he managing the estate? ”

Mrs. Hill sighed. “That is his story to tell, Mr. Barton. Try not to make it difficult on him while you remain here.”

Soon, Kate arrived with a selection of fine linen shirts and pants, and a suit that fit him well enough. They were not new, but they were well maintained and clean, and he wondered where they could have come from. He thought about pressing Kate for information, but he wasn’t really in the mood to be threatened by people who were technically his staff again.

Chastened, and not in the mood to wear clothing not his own, Clint made his way back to the pastures. The horses were grazing happily, but he interrupted Daisy’s liaison with a enthusiastically green patch of grass to bridle her and take her down to the small house by the river that Tony Stark lived in.

Stark had apparently spotted him coming down the path, as he cried out a greeting while perched unsteadily on his small fence. “Welcome, my scoundrel gentleman lord! My rent will be late this month, just so you know. But I am on the brink of an invention that will reverse my fortunes!”

“I’m guessing that word of my indiscretion has travelled.” Clint muttered, but Stark didn't seem to be particularly judgmental at all.

“I’d hardly call that an indiscretion, Mr. Barton. Besides, a man of my reputation can hardly judge you.” Stark said. Suddenly he grew serious. “I hope you will allow us all to continue living here. It will only take a few more months and I will have enough money to pay for everyone’s rent. And Mr. Coulson has a plan to make it entirely self sustaining, if I could just get that infusion of money. Thor and Jane - they’re expecting a baby, and the crops have not been good these past few seasons.”

“I - I - “ Clint started. His resolve to sell the estate was already weakening rapidly.

“If you sell the estate now, it will be bought for a cotton mill. I have heard talk of it in town - the Hydra Textile Company is searching for viable places to build factories, and this estate’s location by the river is an ideal location.” Tony Stark explained. He looked sad. “To tell the truth, it is lucky that you gained this land, and in a card game, no less! I was certain that Justin Hammer would have sold it soon.”

Tony shook his head. “If they build a factory here, they will destroy the manor. And they will send us all away, and level our houses too. And Coulson - well. I suppose I should not tell his story. But, please say that you will keep the land, at least for a few more months.“

“Of course.” Clint said, internally cringing. He would be such a fool to take on an estate on the brink of debt, with tenants that could barely pay rent, and an estate manager that hated him.

“I won't sell the estate. Everyone will stay right where they are.” Oh, Clint was certainly a fool.

Tony broke into a wide grin, clapping Clint on the back. “Well, then! Let’s see to the horse!”

Stark’s invention ended up being a rubber sheath that fit neatly over Daisy’s hoof. “It’ll keep it dry, and it raises her hoof to the same height as her others.” Tony explained, casually seating himself at his workbench as Clint pondered the simple invention. “Trust me, Mr. Barton, this will be good for your horse.“

“She’s Coulson’s horse.”

“Then, this will help you get back on his good side, won’t it?”

Clint threw up his hands angrily. “Why does everyone think I want to get on Mr. Coulson’s good side? First, he rejects me, then he tries to court me, then he is nothing but sullen and angry in my direction! Tell me, Mr. Stark, is your Phil Coulson always so tempestuous?”

Tony pondered the question briefly. “Not at all. Actually, he is very calm most of the time. It must just be you.”

Clint huffed angrily, and leaned against the table that Tony was tinkering on. He watched Tony work for a few beats, admiring how quickly the man became consumed in his work.

“Come have dinner with me.” Clint said, finally.

“I was planning on it.” Tony answered, his nose only half an inch away from a spinning grindstone.

“No, with me. In my study. Coulson has banished me from the servant’s table.”

“Well, it wouldn't do for the master of the estate to eat with the help. I mean it wouldn't do for me to eat with you either, being the disgraced gentleman I am.”

“Well, you are a disgraced gentleman, and I am only pretending to be one, so I’d dare say that your status is still higher than mine.” Clint sighed, as Tony laughed. Perhaps Tony might be a friend. Clint decided that he could certainly use one. He extracted a promise from Tony that he would visit at dinnertime, and walked back to the manor. His manor, now. As complicated and frustrating the situation was, Clint had to admit that he had a small tinge of pride that he - Clinton F. Barton - nothing more than a poor scoundrel and former thief and carny, actually owned a manor.

His walk home was intercepted by Kate, who was running across the fields with a purple bow and a small knapsack filled with fruit and vegetables slung over her shoulder. She came to a stop before him. “Mr. Barton! My mother asks you to please be dressed respectably for dinner, as word has gotten out that you are the new resident of the manor and you may be called upon!”

“Called upon?”

“Visitors, dummy.” Kate responded, before slapping her palms to her mouth. “Oh, I’m so sorry. That just slipped out, Mr. Barton.”

“Kate, please be as rude to me as you wish. I find it delightful, even though you may never find a husband.”

“I don’t want a husband. I just want - ugh.” She waved her bow in the air in a futile gesture.

“What are you doing with that bow? It’s two sizes too large for you, and the draw must be far too heavy.” Clint was teasing of course. The girl was small, but muscular, and he had no doubt that she could handle the bow.  

“Yeah, but it’s mine.” Kate scowled. “I am to catch a rabbit for your dinner. I’m the best bowman at the manor.”

She looked self-satisfied as she said it, so of course Clint couldn't help himself.

“Can I borrow it? And that apple?” He pointed to the apple in her knapsack.

“Maybe, what will you do with it?” Kate scowled.

“I intend to challenge the best bowman at the manor.”

“You’re an archer too!” Kate yelped. “Are you good?”

“Toss that apple in the air, and you’ll see.”

Kate raised her chin skeptically, but she lobbed the apple upwards as hard as she could, and Clint’s arrow intercepted it on its downward arc. He couldn’t help the smug grin that came over his face.

Kate looked shocked, followed by delight. “That was amazing, Mr. Barton! Will you teach me how to do that?”

“Of course, on one condition.”

“Anything! Just - wow. I’d love to do that. I mean, I’m really good, but I could be a bit better. I can hit a moving target at fifty paces, you know?” Kate rambled on, as he waited patiently. “I mean, yes, Mr. Barton.”

“The condition is that you let me catch my own damn rabbit for dinner.” Clint grumbled, changing his course for the woods near the manor. Kate followed, happily.

They caught four rabbits(two each), and Clint took his share of the blame when Kate got scolded by Mrs. Hill for returning so late, although Mrs. Hill was pleased that Tony Stark would be coming for dinner in some sort of formal capacity.

“Perhaps he would actually dress in something other than those filthy inventor rags,” she scoffed. “Just because he no longer has a fortune doesn’t mean that he can’t attempt to preserve his family name.” Mrs. Hill muttered, before returning to chastising Kate.

Clint would have helped make more excuses for Kate, but Clint had plenty to be distracted about when Coulson stepped into the kitchen. He was dressed in black and white, in most of a precisely tailored butler’s uniform. It was clearly made for him, the dark black wool pants skimming lightly over his thighs, and ending right above his polished shoes. A dark grey waistcoat hugged his torso, a watch chain disappearing into a small pocket. and he was holding a black jacket in his hands, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow. Clint stared at his forearms, which were well defined and strong, and felt his throat dry.

Mrs. Hill spoke before either of the men could.

“You shouldn't be in the kitchen, Mr. Barton. Be off with you, and for goodness sakes, take a bath before dinner.”

As Clint backed out of the kitchen, not ignoring the way Coulson steadfastly avoided his gaze, he could hear Mrs. Hill mumble - “If you find him attractive now, you should see him in the formal tails.”


	3. Chapter 3

In the evening, Tony Stark arrived, at the front door, dressed in a dark red coat which brought out his deep brown eyes. A gold waistcoat, far too fancy for a casual dinner, adorned his torso. He might even have brushed his hair. Mrs. Hill rolled her eyes at him, but played her part anyway, taking his coat and greeting him as if she didn’t already scold him daily for traipsing muddy boots into the kitchen.

The parlor and sitting room had yet to be returned to a condition suited to even vaguely polite company, so Clint brought Tony to the study - his study, which Tony merely seemed amused by. Clint wore the borrowed clothes that Kate had delivered, and tried not to think too hard as to who they belonged to.

“This is ridiculous, isn’t it?” Clint asked, the moment Mrs. Hill left them be, after delivering the prerequisite teapot.

“Yes, it is pretty silly. But gentlemen have lots of rules, none of which I find particularly useful.” Tony said, propping up his leather boots on the edge of a low table.

Despite the frustrating situation, Clint found conversation with Tony Stark quite enjoyable, especially since he was perfectly happy to let Stark ramble on about his new inventions. Stark was an attractive man too, and his enthusiasm was contagious, and soon Clint found himself caught up and laughing at Tony’s antics.

They were interrupted by Coulson, standing in the open doorway. He was now dressed in full uniform, and Clint bit his lip as hard as he could at the sight. His feelings were mixed seeing Coulson in uniform. On one hand, it fit him perfectly, skimming his gorgeous frame like a glove. On the other, it simply looked so - servile. And the last thing Clint wanted was to be served by Coulson.

“I apologize for interrupting.” Coulson said. “But Miss Potts has sent a message.” he continued, looking apologetically at Stark. He handed Clint a small envelope, and Clint couldn’t ignore how Coulson’s white gloved hands painstakingly avoided touching his own.

“Dinner will be served shortly, sir.” Coulson said, nodding stiffly as he turned and walked back down the hallway.

“I hate being called ‘sir’,” Clint complained, sinking his face into his hands.

“And I hate that my ex-fiance has apparently invited you to her ball on Saturday, but what can we do?” Tony said, gesturing at the envelope.

“What?” Clint said, jerking his head up to take in Tony’s upset expression. “You were engaged to Miss Potts?”

“Yes, I was engaged to Miss Potts. I also used to to be quite wealthy, as you know. Fortune is a fickle mistress, isn’t it, Mr. Barton?” Tony said, not particularly bitterly, but Clint could hear his voice catch a little.

“What happened?” Clint asked.

“My goddamn conscience happened.” Tony sighed. “I put all of my money into developing a prototype weapon for the military.“

“Did it not work?” Clint asked.

Tony looked offended. “What? No, of course it worked. I built thousands of them. It worked marvelously. That was the problem. It would have demolished whole villages of people, destroyed battleships with a single blow, wiped out hundreds of thousands of lives as easily as I drink this cup of tea..”

Tony continued. Clint expected him to sound sadder, but Tony was entirely matter of fact about the situation. “So, I destroyed it all. I’d put all my money into the work, so obviously, I no longer had any left when I refused to fulfil my contract with the military. I had put up my family’s estates as collateral for the factories, so the bank foreclosures were expected. I caroused and entertained as if I were still wealthy, of course, mostly because I couldn’t bear to break off my engagement with Miss Potts, but the matter became public and so - “ Tony gestured uselessly at himself. “Tony Stark, former gentleman at your service.”

Tony continued talking. “I have known Mr. Coulson for a time. We were never close, but there was a vacant house available here, and he suggested I move in and pay what rent I could.” He rubbed the back of his head. “To tell the truth, I rather enjoy not being a gentleman at all. I can work in peace, and I’ve been very productive, not having to spend all my time visiting, and tea drinking, and escorting ladies to balls.“

Clint nodded. Yes, he certainly understood. “And your friend? Dr. Banner.”

“I picked him up at the asylum!” Tony exclaimed.

“You are joking.”

“Not at all. I was searching for an assistant who would work for next to nothing, you see. And I’d heard of Dr. Banner’s work - it’s truly fascinating, really. It is decades past his peers. I searched everywhere for him, but Coulson helped me to locate him and it turned out he was in the asylum in the city all along. He’s not insane, of course. He just has a bit of a temper, prefers to keep to himself…” Tony trailed off, realizing that perhaps he was speaking of Dr. Banner more fondly that may be appropriate..

Clint opened the envelope from Miss. Potts. "Well, you were correct. Miss Virginia Potts invites me to a ball in her honor Saturday night at the Potts Mansion. It is her birthday. She apologizes for the late notice, but had not heard that I had gained possession of the estate until now. Is there any way I can refuse?”

Tony laughed. “Not unless you intend to insult Miss Potts, and for my sake, I beg you not to, as I still love her. She would have run away with me, but I told her to stay. Can you imagine, remaining with me for my charms alone? It would be horrifying. Do you have formal clothes?”

“I do, I have a friend in the city who keeps some of my things for me. I will have to go in the morning, then.”

“Oh, I will go with you! I have no business in the city, but the fresh country air is ruining my lungs. I am craving some smoke and dirt.” Tony said. “And I can introduce you to people. My name is mostly mud, but I still have one or two useful friends.”

Clint was about to express his relief at having a friend to guide him through the very real social complexities of the upper class - he had pretended at it often enough, but spinning a purely fictional tale for an evening was far simpler than one that had to be rooted firmly in fact. Or rooted in ten acres of land, as it were. He was about to say so, when the rolling of a steel cart could be heard outside, and both Mr. Coulson and Mrs. Hill entered the room.

The next ten minutes was entirely too awkward for words. Mrs. Hill stiffly ushered them over to the small dining table in the study, as Coulson placed white napkins on their laps with polite precision. He explained the night’s menu in a clipped and professional voice, and Clint had to bite his tongue to not interrupt. Finally after the interminable explanation of the meal(Roast rabbit with vegetables! It hardly needed explaining!), Coulson stepped away from the table and bowed.

“Enjoy your meal, sir.” Coulson said, and his voice was as cold as a bitter winter.

 

\---

 

After dinner, Mrs. Hill ushered the men to the music room, as they apparently had a visitor. Clint was tempted to ask after Coulson, but he was afraid that Mrs. Hill would think it to mean that he was requesting to be served upon. Natasha was already waiting in the music room, wearing a simple dark green gown that showed off her brilliant hair.

“Natasha!” Clint exclaimed. “You look so...clean.”

“Clean?” Natasha asked, grinning. “I look positively ravishing, Clint.”

“I agree,” said Tony, appreciating Natasha’s fine form. “Clint cannot appreciate women the way I do.”

“I heard you were invited to a ball, and to save yourself the trouble of being a newly eligible bachelor in ownership of Triskelion House, I will be your date.” Natasha said.

“Really, Natasha? I’ve had plenty of practice fending off attention before, or have you forgotten my previous careers?”

“I would like to wear a nice dress and go to a ball.” Natasha admitted. “They do not know me, so you may introduce me as the daughter of a minor Russian lord and you know I can play the part well.”

Clint tried not to laugh at Natasha’s pout, but failed. Indeed, the idea of attending a ball with Natasha by his side improved his mood. To have a friend in a room of foreign upper class faces, especially a friend that actually knew all of his secrets, was an anchor in an otherwise tumultuous sea.

“Have you danced recently? We should practice.” Natasha demanded, gesturing at the pianoforte. “Tony, you can play, can’t you?”

“Barely. But you know who is remarkably talented at the pianoforte? Katherine Bishop.”

“Kate? Hill’s girl?”

“She sneaks in here often, when Hill and Coulson are away. I’ve heard her. No one here cares about being proper in this company, right? I’ll fetch her, they must just be cleaning up after dinner downstairs.” Tony said, already on his way out of the room.

“Nat, what am I doing?” Clint sighed, after Tony was gone. He threw himself into a comfortable chair and slouched down in it.

Natasha sat on his chair’s arm, and ran her fingers through his hair. “You’re pretending to be a gentleman, so no one will question your claim to this land. Even if it is known that you won it in a bet, all that will be forgotten if you appear respectable enough. If you are welcomed by your society, they will defend your right to it. And in turn, we can all have a home.”

“And what if they find out?"

“Well, you’ll likely be chased out of town. You may be hanged for your deception. You might be quartered too, depending on how embarrassed people are for being made fools.” Natasha said, perfectly evenly. “You won’t get caught, Clint. You only need to pretend long enough for Tony to sell one of his silly inventions and buy the land.”

Tony returned shortly, with Kate in tow. Behind him, were Dr. Banner and Coulson, the former in a suit, and Coulson still in his uniform. Kate was in a lavender dress, that she tugged on self consciously.

“Mrs. Hill wouldn’t let them into the house proper unless they were dressed somewhat respectably. I didn’t even think that Kate owned a dress that girlish.” Tony explained. “Kate plays the pianoforte. Bruce plays the violin. Did you know that Coulson plays the cello?”

“Tony. I cannot imagine that Coulson wants to play the cello right now.” Clint interrupted. It was bad enough that Coulson refused to treat him as an equal, he wouldn’t sink to making Coulson follow his whims.

“But it would be such pleasant music. Will you play the cello for us, Mr. Coulson?” Tony pleaded.

“I will do whatever my master wishes.” Coulson said, tersely, keeping his eyes firmly directed away from Clint’s.

“I do not wish you to do anything that you do not want to.” Clint replied.

“Well, then, we appear to be at an impasse.” Tony sighed. “Look, we are all dressed nicely, and we are all here. Let us invite the others over and have a night of music and dancing. Oh, that is one of the few things I have missed about genteel folk.”

“It is not proper -” Mrs. Hill started.

“It is proper if the master of the house asks for it, is it not? Clint, shall we have Steve and Thor and Jane, and all the others over?”

“Of course!” Clint said, although at that moment, he would have done anything to put more human bodies between himself and Coulson’s glare.

“Fine.” Mrs Hill gave in. “But, I insist that they at least wear their Sunday’s best! I’ve only just cleaned this room.”

“We won’t shame you, Mrs. Hill. By the time I am finished with them, none of us will be distinguishable from minor lords.” Tony said, skipping out of the room with Mrs. Hill on his heels, demanding that he at least attempt to achieve some measure of social propriety.

Tony’s departure left the room without a conversation topic, which Clint desperately tried to revive by turning to Kate and asking her opinion on arrow fletching, which was not really a topic he actually cared much about(if the arrow had fletching, he could use it). But Kate had a lot to say on the topic, and filled the room with chatter with some small prompting from Clint. Coulson remained standing stiffly by the door, and both Dr. Banner and Natasha looked extremely awkward about the tension in the room.

Kate got caught up in a conversation with Dr. Banner about chickens, and Clint crept to Natasha’s side.

“Why is Coulson standing there, Natasha? Surely this is as awkward for him as it is for me.”

“Really, Clint? Tony summoned him to the room, as your guest, and no one has dismissed him.”

“I have to dismiss him?” Clint said, incredulously.

“Yes.”

“I don’t want to have to do that. I don’t want him to work for me!” Clint hissed.

Natasha grabbed Clint’s elbow and dragged him to the corner of the room. “I will explain as much as I can later, but please believe me. You must allow Coulson to work for you. You must allow him to remain as your estate manager. And for now, you must dismiss him for the night, because you are his employer, whether you like it or not.”

Clint stared at Natasha. She was perfectly serious, bordering on a desperation he rarely saw in her. He trusted her, even though secrets were clearly being kept and for once, they were not his.

Clint cleared his throat. “Mr. Coulson.”

“Yes, sir.” Coulson said, his face entirely expressionless.

Clint looked down at his feet. God, he hated being called ‘sir’. “You are excused for the night. Thank you very much.”

“Certainly, sir. Have a pleasant evening.“ Coulson said, with no particular intonation in his voice. Clint felt stabbed with politeness. Coulson executed a small bow(Clint did know know that bows could feel sarcastic, but apparently they could), and left the room.

Clint stood, deflated. He didn’t have much time to let his frustration sink in, as Tony came barrelling in, with Steve, Thor and Jane behind him. Steve was dressed in a recent military uniform, which immediately answered a few questions about his straight bearing. Thor was dressed more simply, in a clean shirt and pants, and Jane, six months pregnant, was in a delicately pretty day dress. Steve made his apologies for Mr. Barnes, who had already gone to bed.

“Thank you for inviting us, Mr. Barton. I apologize for my dress, I don’t own one suitable for an evening event, but Miss Potts gave me this dress last month and it is the nicest I own.” Jane said, smiling shyly.

Clint groaned. “Alright. All of you can stop Mr. Barton-ing me right now. You saw me when I came in a stablehand. You know that I am not a gentleman, and I am merely playing this game so none of us end up homeless. So, let’s keep up the charade when we have to, but when it’s just us, for god’s sake, let me just be Clint.”

Thor laughed a boisterous laugh. “You are my favourite kind of gentleman then! Come, shall we have music?”

The mood in the room was immediately lightened by Kate starting to play, accompanied with Dr. Banner on the violin. Clint gave in to Natasha’s pestering and led her in a slow waltz. His eyes drifted to Thor and Jane, who were dancing too, probably to the rhythm of their love, as they were certainly not dancing to the rhythm of the music, the two of them more concerned with each other than anything else on the room. They looked content and happy, and he couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps he might be able to attain that simple joy some time in his life. His thoughts were interrupted by Natasha, who demanded to dance with Steve next, and he moved to the pianoforte bench, to sit next to Kate.

“I hope you’re not going to challenge me on the pianoforte, because I really would like to maintain my title of the best musician in the household.” Kate said.

“Certainly not, I am tone deaf.” Clint answered, which made Kate laugh.

“Mr. Rogers looks dazzling in that uniform. He is very tall.” Kate intimated. “Perhaps you could pursue him, as Mr. Coulson is far too somber for you.”

“Kate, you will not play matchmaker. Besides, I doubt Steve shares my preferences.”

“He does. He is most likely in love with Mr. Barnes, though.” Kate said, clearly excited about the prospect of sharing some gossip.

“Hmm?” Clint said, suspecting that she needed no further goading.

“They grew up together, and then joined the army during the war. Mr. Barnes was suspected to have been killed in action for years, but he was only missing and they’ve only just found him, although he is not quite right still. Mr. Rogers cares for him now, in all senses of the word. I think it is awfully romantic, don’t you?” Kate sighed, her eyes drifting towards Steve, who twirled Natasha in circles as she giggled like the young girl she never was.

“Why, little Kate, I didn’t know you were capable of romance.” Clint teased.

“I am perfectly capable of it, I just have boundless stores of apathy towards it.” Kate retorted. “Play something jaunty, Dr. Banner!” she begged, leaping up from the seat.

Kate asked Steve for a dance, so Natasha turned to harangue Tony, who was a very good dancer as well. Dr. Banner played a tune that sounded like bumblebees, smiling to himself as he did, his eyes closed and his body swaying to the music. Everyone was paired off neatly, so Clint edged towards the door, relieved that no one noticed him leaving.

 

\---

 

He found himself walking towards the servant’s quarters, and not his new suite. He wasn’t sure what he intended to do. He did not think that apologizing to Coulson for his initial deception would do much good, as the future of Triskelion House would involve him maintaining yet another deception, for even longer. Still, his feet led him towards the direction that he was certain was least likely to give him solace. Coulson was not there, or at least there was neither light nor snore emerging from under his door.

Clint walked on, heading towards the pastures. He did not bother to fetch a lantern, trusting his knowledge of the path and the dim moonlight to bring him towards the stables. He doubted that Coulson had decided to play the cello for Daisy again, but it was still one of the most familiar places on the property for him, and he felt at least a little bit more in his own skin there.

He leaned on the pasture fence for a while, observing the stars in the night sky, as a dark shape with a lantern came walking over the hill from the direction of Tony’s house.

“Who’s there!” Clint called out, but the dark shape continued walking on the path to the manor.

“Hey!” Clint yelled, jumping the fence to run towards the man, who stood curiously, looking in his direction. He had only run about ten feet, when his ill-advised rejection of lanterns caught up with him, and he tripped on a large branch, twisting and landing hard on the ground. Pain shot through his leg, and he yelped in surprise as he attempted to stand up and collapsed back to the ground in surprise.

“What are you doing out here, sir?” the man said, and of course it was Coulson. Of course, because if there was one thing Clint Barton was good at, it was making a fool of himself in front of this man.

“I’d ask what you were doing out here too, but frankly, I think I might be going into shock.” Clint managed to say, gritting his teeth.

“Oh!” Coulson said, perhaps finally understanding that Clint really was hurt. “Come, let me see.” he said, crouching down to examine his foot.

Clint winced as Coulson attempted to remove his boot unsuccessfully..

“Your foot is swollen already. It is sprained or broken.” Coulson said, and his voice sounded truly concerned and warm, like the man Clint had first met. “Can you walk on the other?”

Clint tested his other foot gingerly, but it elicited no significant pain. “Yes, I think so.”

Clint stared as Coulson removed his own wool coat, because of course he would have gone traipsing out in the dark without a lantern and only a shirt and waistcoat. He accepted the coat; this was not a time where he felt too prideful. It hurt to get himself upright enough to throw his arm over Coulson’s shoulder, but Coulson’s arm was steady and warm around his back. Coulson waited as a new wave of pain passed through Clint, supporting him as he grimaced into a more comfortable position.

“I can call Dr. Banner to you, but it is cold, and dark. And he's also not technically that kind of doctor. Better we make it indoors.” Coulson said, his voice gentle. “Can you do it?”

“Mr. Coulson, I want to apologize!” Clint blurted out.

“You are clumsy, and apparently do not know how to use lanterns, but that is not something that warrants an apology.” Coulson said, as they continued to limp together towards the house.

“I meant for deceiving you. I should have told you that I had recently come to own Triskelion House the moment I met you on the path.” Clint said.

Coulson said nothing.

"I plan on playing the part of a gentleman, until Tony can raise the money to buy it. I won't leave you, or anyone else, to be thrown out of your home for a cotton mill" Clint added. 

Coulson sighed, but Clint swore the arm around his side grew tighter. “I was angry. The ownership of the estate has been...well, it has been a sore spot for me for many years. I hope you understand that it may take me a bit of time to come to terms with it. Perhaps I might explain my situation to you one day, but I think we have larger issues to deal with tonight.”

It wasn't quite an acceptance of the apology, but Clint would take what he’s been offered, especially in light of the sensation of needles poking into the bones of his right leg. It seemed like enough of a tentative truce, and Coulson’s body was warm and supportive against his side, and yes, it would do well enough for tonight.

There was a flurry of activity the moment that they entered the house through the kitchen entrance, which did not require any stairs. Clint realized that Coulson must have signaled their arrival, and the problem, with his lantern from down the path, because Mrs. Hill was already waiting with a pair of terrifyingly large scissors. Dr. Banner and Jane were there too, and the others were clustered worriedly at the back of the kitchen.

“You don’t mean to remove my foot, do you, Mrs. Hill?” Clint joked weakly.

“Of course not.” Mrs. Hill said, who lacked a sense of humor even in non-emergency situations. ”Your foot is too swollen, and I must remove your boot.”

Mrs. Hill expertly cut through Clint’s shoes, and Jane took over, ordering Dr. Banner to fetch a bowl of hot water, clean linens, and a straight board. She began cleaning the foot, carefully pressing her fingers to the bone. The pain was excruciating, but Clint reached for Coulson’s hand, and he did not pull away, even as Clint was certain that he might be crushing his fingers to shards.

“It is certainly broken.” Jane said, when she was finished. “I have set it temporarily, but you must go to town tomorrow to see the doctor.”

“I was planning on riding to the city.” Clint insisted, easing up on Coulson’s fingers, who withdrew gratefully.

“You most certainly will not do that.” Dr. Banner said, peering over at Jane’s work. “Oh, that’s a very good splint. You should study medicine, after the child is born. I know a nursing school in the city that will give scholarships.”

Jane smiled. “I’m quite happy tending to the animals, but thank you.”

“Wait, so no one here actually has any medical training?” Clint grumbled, even though the sharp pain in his foot had already dulled to a steady throb.

“Jane’s has set quite a few broken legs. Mostly calves, of course, but the principles are similar.” Coulson said.

“You just compared me to a baby cow.” Clint pointed out, grimacing.

“No, they are much less stubborn, and a bit cuter.” Coulson said, already returning to cleaning up the dirt covered linen sheets around the table, but Clint could see the start of a small smile from under his bowed head, and it was a better salve than the cool ointment Jane had placed around his foot. He gingerly inched himself off the table, and found Coulson beside him again, ready to support his weight. Clint felt that perhaps he could hop his way to his room just fine, but Coulson’s presence was warm and insistent and he gladly leaned into it.

“I don’t suppose you’ll just let me stay down here, would you?” Clint asked, as they limped past his former room.

“No.” Coulson said, but his grip did not loosen, and there was no longer any bitterness in his voice.

“But - steps.” Clint complained, which only elicited an eyebrow raise from Coulson.

Clint yelped as his feet were raised off the ground and he was unceremoniously lifted over Coulson’s back in a fireman’s carry. It happened quickly enough that he barely had the time to protest, and when he did, he found that he could not manage more than a small squeak.

“Comfortable?” asked Coulson, setting up the stairs fairly gracefully for having two hundred pounds on his back.

“I demand you put me down!” Clint groused.

“Why, Mr. Barton, I believe that you had expressed a wish that I should not do anything that I do not want to.” Coulson said, walking steadily towards the master suite. “And I do not wish to put you down.”

They arrived in the bedroom in good time, and Coulson deposited Clint on the bed gently, but with little fanfare.

“Can you undress yourself for bed, or will you need my help. Mr. Barton?”

Clint sighed, tamping down the inappropriate comments that surfaced to the tip of his tongue. He’s had quite enough excitement for one night. And if he could not have Coulson’s awkward flirting, or the casual silence of their forest walks - well, at least he was back to “Mr. Barton” and not a cold “sir.”

“I’ll be fine. Goodnight, Mr. Coulson.” Clint said, trying to sound as grateful as he felt. “Thank you for helping me tonight.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Barton.” Coulson said, with a quiet smile.


End file.
